


I, Lennon

by KeeLimeArt



Category: The Beatles
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, Coma, Fluff, M/M, POV First Person, Reader-Interactive, personality transition
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-05
Updated: 2017-03-05
Packaged: 2018-09-28 12:41:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10101254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KeeLimeArt/pseuds/KeeLimeArt
Summary: "Three days ago, I was a girl in high school!" I snapped."Three days ago, you were a man in a coma, John!"-----Reality is falling apart at your feet, for you, the Reader, have never existed. You were simply a figment of John Lennon's coma induced imagination. The visions were realistic enough to the point that you had forgotten who you were. Even as you wake, you have a hard time coping with an entirely different body. Yet, it has been yours the entire time.Meanwhile, Paul stresses himself to stay close to Lennon, despite the obvious change in his personality. He'll play along with the game for now, letting John do what he wants. After all, what the big deal if he's obsessed with color all of a sudden? What's wrong with getting rid of their mop-tops and trading them away for something ahead of its time?





	

I’ll admit that I can get extremely heated and passionate about a few things, but nothing gets me rallied more than The Beatles. When I listened to them on my grandparent’s old record player in the attic for the first time, it was like a breath of fresh air. Only a few of the songs were faintly familiar, and some of them I’d been hearing my entire life. It reminded me of when you look through a keyhole to a locked room, and one day, you finally go inside. When I went inside of that room, I found something incredible that would shake me forever. 

Like so many people before me, I contracted “Beatlemania” within a week. From then on, everything for me was mop-tops and round glasses. Of course, it didn’t take long for me to jump from posters and albums to their movies. I still love them so much. If you ever watch them, you’ll notice that you’ve got to pay attention to what they’re saying. Instead of loud, boisterous humor that you see in most comedies today, you’ll notice that they have a low-key wit about them. Watch it twice, and you’ll pick up on something new every time, whether it be a little action in the background or a little pun that they muttered. Except for Magical Mystery Tour. We don’t ever talk about that one.

Part of this obsession, yes, I’ll admit it, was sharing some of these stories with my friends. Of course, I’m sure that I’ve gotten on their nerves more often than not. They’d brush it off with “Cool” or “Nice” and then they’d change the topic completely. I’ll admit that it rubbed me the wrong way sometimes. All I wanted to do was share some of the love that I felt for these things, and nobody would listen. That is, until I met Fill. 

Fill sat at the same table that I and some others sat at. The only person that I really knew was my friend Cassidy, who brushed off my stories like I said before. That didn’t stop me from sharing my stories, though. About three of them were listening in and laughing as I told them some of the things that happened. Fill was curious about it, even after I finished, and that’s what really drew me towards him. Finally, somebody was interested. We talked about it some more, watched some of the movies, and laughed, mostly. You could say that we really hit it off from the start. 

Fill admitted to me a year after we met that he actually didn’t like the Beatles at first. He found “Yellow Submarine” to be annoying, mostly because his parents thought the same. He never really thought much of them. We talk about this now and laugh at ourselves, because “Yellow Submarine” is one of our favorites, both song and movie wise. 

I know that some people will scoff and laugh at us for being ‘nerds’ about them, but let me ask them something. What if we asked them to tell us everything that they knew about their favorite athlete? Let me tell you, they’d probably know just as much about that person as I know about John Winston Lennon, and I find it completely unfair that people in society can protest and get violent in the streets about sports. If it’s over that topic, then it’s completely ordinary and was expected to happen if their team lost. However, if somebody shows even a glimmer of over-liking something, they get ridiculed for it.

There was one time in Art class that set me over the edge. The teacher herself is a bit of a hippie, so whenever we are doing our work, she’ll start playing classic rock music like that on Pandora. “Hey Jude” started playing, which is in no way one of my favorites. Sometimes, I think that people beat it into its grave because that’s the only song that they seem to know. Some guy in the back of the class started to sing out of key on purpose with some coarse lyrics that they substituted in. 

I try to never get angry at things. I just don’t see the point in it. Why rage and shout when you could easily over power somebody with your wit? I wish that I could say the same for that day. For the first time in a long time, I felt nothing but pure malice. Before I said anything, my face was already turning a hot red color. 

“Don’t,” I growled, “insult that song.” Everything suddenly got very still, and even the poor singer stopped to look. That quiet person in the back of the class was actually saying something? Nobody could believe it, and even the jerk could tell that something was off with my outburst. He brushed it off, though. He might have stopped singing, but he didn’t say anything else, either. The Art teacher didn’t look like she minded it at all. In fact, she seemed a little proud.

“This is Beatles country back here,” she remarked. The comment got me to chuckle a little. No, it wasn’t a joke or anything, but I can’t stand to remain extremely angry or sad. It just brings down everyone close to you, and it’s no fun for anyone. You’ll feel a lot better after you dig yourself out of a hole. Besides, “Hey Jude” was still playing.  
It’s not just their music, alright? There’s something that dives a little deeper into the senses, something we can hardly understand, ourselves. After them, I felt this incredible, overwhelming change take place. Their music moved me that much. Isn’t that how music is supposed to be? Isn’t that how you feel about your favorite songs? Or maybe it’s not even the songs. Maybe it’s the guys themselves. You feel a sort of strong connection to them, just like you would to- well- characters. Sometimes I even forget that they were real people! 

In my opinion, the thing that really draws us to characters is the fact that we can relate to them. It’s not just the stories that they’re a part of, it’s THEM. I think that what we really want is to become the characters, themselves. That’s why we cosplay. That’s why we write fanfictions. But really, we know deep down in our hearts that you can’t just wake up one day, and bam! You’re in the skin of that person! It doesn’t really matter, no matter how badly you want it, but that doesn’t stop a young girl’s dreams. 

\-----

I woke up with a splitting headache, surrounded in complete darkness. As I tried to shuffle onto my feet, I realized that I was laying on a bed. Surely I hadn’t slept for that long. Wouldn’t I have noticed if I fell off of the couch? With a groggy groan, I stood on shaking legs as I headed for what looked like an outline of light coming from behind a door.  
The sudden burst of light momentarily blinded me. I gave a low grunt before raising a hand up to my eyes. Somebody already beat me to it. They reeled back in surprise as they saw me, letting out a small shriek.

“Oh my god,” a faintly familiar voice breathed. The owner turned away and shouted down the hallway, “Hey! He’s up! He’s out of bed!” Then, turning back to me, “What are you doing? Are- are you alright?”

He? Perhaps I just heard it wrong.

“Yeah, ‘m fine…” I grumbled back. My voice was so low and raspy that I could barely recognize it.

Another voice came out of the blue, saying, “What? He’s out of bed already? Keep ‘im in there!”

“What?” I asked, feeling confused. “’Ey, what time is it? I’ve got to get ready for school.” 

The voices were silent for a moment. I lifted a hand off of my eyes and squinted at them, trying to make out the silhouettes in front of me. I couldn’t quite tell who or what they were, for their images blended well into the background.

“School?” asked the first voice. “I think you need to sit down, John.” His voice was light, with a hint of a laugh in it.

“John? What do you mean-“ I began. Unfortunately, my eyes began to adjust, and I was able to see everything clearly, albeit a little blurry. The sight before me caused my blood to run cold and my heart to drop into my stomach. 

Firstly, I was not in my own house. The scent should have given that away almost immediately. I don’t know how I didn’t recognize it before. The air was simply too clean to be my house, and the walls, as well as everything else, were a pristine white. I could only presume that I was in some sort of hospital.

Secondly, there were three young men crowded around the door frame to the room. Although none of them were part of my family, they were not unfamiliar, either. After all, how could I not recognize those dark colored mop-tops, one’s dainty eyebrows compared to the other two’s large nose and bushy brows? I weakly smiled at them once I realized who they were. There was one missing, still. The leader of the group. The rhythm guitarist. 

John.

His name was John. 

That single moment of happiness was thrusted out of the window and quickly replaced with panic. I tore myself away from the group, and headed for the nearest bathroom. At least, I would have if Paul McCartney didn’t grab me by the elbow and try to pull me back to him.

“John, where are you going?” he worriedly asked. 

“Stop calling me that!” I anxiously snapped at him. It felt awful to do that to Paulie, but I had no idea what was going on or what happened. A few minutes ago, I was in my house, watching movies in the living room. 

“Better get the nurse,” Paul muttered to one of the others. George Harrison gave him a firm nod before taking off down the hallway. The bassist came forward with his hands held out like he was trying to calm a frightened animal. At that point, I probably was.

“Calm down. Let’s calm down, okay? Lie back down on the bed, Lennon,” he cooed.  
I smacked one of his hands away from me. The Liverpudlian man looked at me with shock and perhaps, unless I was mistaken, a bit of hurt. 

"Get away from me!” my voice quavered. I shivered at the sound of my own voice, a voice I didn’t remember. 

My brain’s a bit foggy as I try to remember what happened next. A struggle, or a fight broke out, the nurse came, Ringo and Paul practically had me pinned down, but I would not stop swinging. I recall my arm feeling pinched as I drifted off into blackness.

\-----

I was much calmer when I finally came to, but that was probably because the injection was still wearing off. It was then that I could not pass it off as a dream any longer. There I was, in a hospital bed, and there were three of the Beatles, standing in the hallway, talking to the nurse.  
“We’re not entirely certain, yet,” the nurse was telling them. “We think that he might have amnesia, of course, but you can never tell with these things until more testing is done.”  
“He was acting like an animal,” Paul stated.  
“Well, wouldn’t you be startled, too, if you just woke up from a coma?”


End file.
